2–

The board with the case photographs looked like something right out of some crime-show. Ten photos for every one of the seven victims, showing the corpses from every imaginable angle. His stomach turned, but he still couldn't look away. Instead he slowly sat down in one of the chairs in their impromptu headquarter in her motel-room. He wasn't squeamish by any means, but this for sure wasn't what he had expected, when he had signed up for their deal. Hunting shadows, why not? Inspecting corn circles, all right, but real dead people?

Agent French continued to explain the details of the case, but her voice seemed very far away, as he starred right ahead. Beneath his stare the victims seemed to morph into a faceless jumble of waxen skin and unseeing eyes. He swallowed hard and only blinked out of his morbid trance, when a glass of water was pushed into his hand. Only then he noticed that Agent French had stopped speaking altogether. Now she stood before him and looked rather concerned. "Are you all right, Doctor Rush?"

He nodded numbly. "Yes, of course. I was just…"

She smiled at him kindly. "I'm sorry, sometimes I completely forget that this sort of thing is not exactly normal for everyone else. Maybe we should go outside for a minute?"

Heat rose to his face. "No, I'm good. There is really no need." Rush still made a point of not looking directly at the photos again. Trying to regain his bearing he surmised as much about the case, as he had still heard. "So all these people were found froze to death. I don't really see how that concerns us."

Agent French still looked at him with a clearly worried expression, but upon the mention of her field of expertise she perked right up. "Normally I would have to agree with you, but there was not a single night when the temperature dropped under 50° Fahrenheit. There was simply no way how they could have died from the cold outside. There have to be external circumstances."

His head was still swimming and as much as he would have liked to reason his next words away with that fact as soon as they leave his mouth, he really couldn't. That was simply hat he was like. "Still, how does that involve us? If it's murder, shouldn't it be a case for – " He caught himself before saying 'actual agents', but only barely.

Agent French rose her perfect eyebrows and seemed to know exactly what he had wanted to say. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air between them. "An agent with actual cases?" she finally finished his sentence. "Well, they're not interested, as the police labelled the deaths accidents, so it's all ours." She twisted her mouth. "Anyway, even if it wasn't, I'd like to remind you, I'm a normal agent so I'm perfectly capable to deal with it."

Rush nodded mutely and looked away, so as not to meet her gaze. The floor of the motel-room was decked out in an ugly green carpet. He traced its flower pattern with his eyes. Unsure he wet his lips. "Yes, I know. I was simply startled, I didn't intended to call you anything but capable." Cold swept through his body. From his toes up his legs, until it finally pooled in his stomach. He felt as if his careless words had brought him to the edge of losing something important and until then he hadn't thought that he actually cared for the distraction these missions offered. The realisation unsettled him to such a degree that he forgot the words he had meant to use to placate her.

There was a long silence between them and Rush kept his gaze fixed on the floor. When she spoke again her tone was carefully neutral and he didn't turn to see her face. "When I first stumbled over this case, I noticed that the victims all worked in the gastronomy. Restaurants, cafés and hotels. Even though the police classified the deaths as accidents, they did some basic research and I got the files. Now I'd suggest we get to the part that actually makes up most of the work of the FBI: research. We look through them and search for any connections or unusual circumstances we can find. After that we'll take a look at the sites."

Rush only nodded and walked over to the small plastic table where the agent had already spread the files. To his surprise and quiet relief the tension between them evaporated as they thumbed through files and swapped pages for better perusal, but what he was even more surprised about was the fact that he actually enjoyed this: Looking through the chaos and trying to find the common thread. He could delve head first into the old habits of looking for structures without the ever numbing fear of the train of his reasoning slipping through his fingers and leaving him alone with the dark. This was far too mundane to lose oneself and suddenly he realised that he could do something again and for a moment the thought choked him with its intensity.

When he looked up to ask her to hand him another file, he caught her looking at him with a wide smile. "Here", she handed him a mug with coffee. "I asked if you wanted one, but you were too absorbed to hear me." Under her bemused expression he suddenly felt very foolish for enjoying such mindless to such a degree work.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and took a sip of his coffee. "Yes, it was more interesting than I would have thought…" To his surprise Agent French nodded enthusiastically. "One would think it quite monotone, but I actually really love it, too." She winked at him over the rim of the mug, she held in both her hands. "I actually really enjoy cataloguing documents. When I was little I even wanted to be a librarian. Nothing but cataloguing books the whole day and reading them beneath one's desk when no one would look."

Rush didn't quite know how to respond to such a revelation, but as it turned out he didn't have to anyway. After another gulp of coffee Agent French concentrated on the files again and he followed suit.

Mostly there were reconstructions the police had made of the victims' final days, but also general descriptions of the victims and lists of the people who had last spoken to them. In between were all the little things that seemed to have been on the victims' desks at the time of their deaths, doubtlessly never looked at again after the police had declared the whole thing a tragic accident. Rush looked through them all and slowly but surely, he noticed something nagging in the back of his head. There was something there, just out of his reach and finally it hit him like a ton of bricks. Hectically he compared pages, but he was right. "Morley Meat."

Agent French looked up from the page she was perusing to look at him confusedly. "What did you say?"

"Morley Meat. Every victim was affiliated with them. It seems to be a butchery here in Boston. Five of the victims were actual customers, but the rest weren't and that's probably why no one caught on to the connection before. Michael Elliot's restaurant is next door to it and the bakery seems to actually have sold bread to them." He involuntarily gasped for breath. In his excitement he had quite forgotten to breath and he would have felt embarrassed again, if it wasn't for the fact that Agent French had jumped up exited at his words.

"Then I'd say we better get going."

Of course the supernatural angle was rubbish. Rush was still more than aware of that and their first mission had done little to change his mind. Still he followed her hurriedly, as she climbed into the car. He eyed her shoes doubtfully. While Agent French was far too professional to wear anything really outrageous to work, her serious black heels still had a remarkable height and he wasn't quite sure how she could manage to drive properly with them.

When he looked up again, he caught her glancing at him in turn, before she started the engine. He hurried to look straight ahead and did his best not to look into a direction that could be so easily misunderstood again. The radio stayed silent this time and he was oddly glad for it as he forced himself to pick up his former train of thought. Even if he didn't believe in this whole mess, it was strangely intoxicating to be able to solve problems like this again. And even though it was hard to admit even in to himself it was also nice to have someone to talk to occasionally. The thought settled uncomfortably in his mind and he made a point of looking out of the window.

The part of the city they were driving through was exactly the sort Rush usually made a huge detour around. It was nice and tidy with many people walking around and the mixture of old houses and new remodelling around them was exactly the sort that his students seemed to enjoy, which explained most of his antipathy. When they finally left the main road for the smaller street with the butchery, it was already early evening.

Quietly they got out of the car, but even from the street it was easy to see that the shop had already closed. With a short gesture Agent French made him walk behind her, as she went around to the back.

The door there stood slightly open and the agent turned around to shake her head at him. 'Stay behind' – the message was clear and Rush only too happy to obey. This didn't feel like a farfetched hunt for a shadow. There could very well be a real murderer in there and he felt totally unprepared to face someone like that. Agent French on the other hand looked exactly like something right out of the TV, when she pulled out her gun and slowly inched into the building. The whole situation felt faintly surreal to Rush and he could hear the blood rush through his ears as he waited for her to come back.

Long minutes passed and Rush twitched nervously as he stood just outside the door and strained to hear anything from within. He began to feel more and more nervous, until he finally heard a loud thumb from within. He froze for a moment, unsure what to do. If it had only been Agent French, than surely she would have said something by now and if not… He swallowed hard and strained his ears in the hope of hearing something that would show him what to do. Then a muffled grown came from within and he stopped thinking. As much of a bastard as he was, Rush couldn't just let her be murdered, while he waited not even out of earshot.

His knuckles turned white around the doorknob, but he still forced himself to enter. The door opened into a sterile white kitchen. It was empty, but placed meticulously on a counter were a selection of cooking tools. With some relief he noted that all the knives seemed to be on their allocated places and before going into the next room he grabbed for a rolling pin. He grew up in Glasgow and not in the nice parts and he'd manage if he only had something vaguely threatening to hold on to.

Even in his head he was only half convinced, but he forced himself to continue. Carefully he opened the next door an inch wide and glanced through. The room behind seemed to be a storage area and right in the middle stood a man. He had his back to him and covered most of his view, but Rush could still clearly see how he choked the brunette figure before him. He hesitated only for a moment, before he shook himself out of his stupor.

The thought that he could simply turn around and call the police after all entered his mind and it made him sick to his stomach. Before he had a chance to prove how despicable he truly was, he slipped into the room. His heart thumbed in his ears as he inched towards the man. It was very cold in here, but his hands still sweated around the handle of the rolling pin.

Only another metre… Rush had to look away, as he raised his weapon and struck the man with all his might. He was scared shitless and if he missed… But he didn't miss. The wood hit its target with such a force, that Rush had to stumble back. Heart hammering, he chanced a glance. The man lay unconscious on the floor, a wide gash on the back of his head and in the cold light it looked for a second as if his skin had turned blue. Rush blinked and the picture was gone and he hurried to kneel next to Agent French. The usually so lively agent had fallen to the floor and was trembling violently. Rush touched her arm, unsure of what to do. She felt cool to the touch.

"Agent French? Are you all right?" An absolutely stupid question, but he had simply no idea what else to do. She looked up to him and he was at once even more concerned when he saw that her lips had turned blue. "I'm ok, don't worry, just a little cold. Could you give me my phone? It fell over there during the fight."

Rush hurried to give it to her. "We should probably call an ambulance." She shook her head. "I don't think you truly got him that hard and even if, the police will have that well in hand." He looked at her disbelievingly. She was still deadly pale and even the phone in her hand shook with the tremors that had her body in their grasp. "I meant for you." For a moment she just stared at him, then she shook her head dismissively. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm right as rain."

Her tone allowed no further discussions, so while she dialled the police he looked around the room, trying to make sense of what had happened. A few bags had fallen over and spilt their innards over the floor, a whirl of salt, pepper and herbs. There were footprints in between and on the other side of the room, seemingly in the direction the assailant had come from, an open door. "The cold room…" Slowly things started to make sense…

When he turned around again, Agent French had just ended her call and sat down on a stool opposite the unconscious man, gun out. "I called the police. Someone should be over in five minutes."

Rush nodded thoughtfully, eyes fixed on her ashen face. "Are you sure, you're alright? Maybe I should keep an eye on-"

"I'm truly alright." She gifted him with a weak smile. "Enough for this at least. Have you found anything during your little perusal?"

He nodded. "Yes, there's a cold room, where he stores the meat. I think he murdered them over there. Maybe he gave them something so they couldn't struggle or he simply locked the door behind them, after he threw them in." He shrugged. "Without an autopsy there is no real way of knowing, especially as your case can't really be counted, as you surprised him."

Agent French looked at him funnily. "And what if I tell you that I never was in the cold room? How would you explain my state?"

Rush looked from her to the chaos her struggle with the butcher had caused, than back to her. "The door stood open, so to some degree it could have been the cold sweeping in from there, but maybe you didn't notice how close you were, during the fight? I'm sure you had more important things on your mind than whether or not you were in the cold room in between."

Agent French looked at him for a long moment, then she only shook her head with a tired smile. "You see but still don't believe? I think this will truly be a hard piece of work."

He had an inkling what she was talking about, but on the off—chance that she would make sense for once, he was about to ask her, when the police finally arrived and from then on the whole building was a flurry of activity. An officer asked him about what had happened, while Agent French was talking animatedly with a detective, looking quite healthy again. It was only when they finally left that she started shaking again. Her bravado had seemingly been used up, while she had played the capable FBI agent. Of course she protested an ambulance, so he hurried to get her to the car.

It was only after he had herded her into the narrow cot of her motel room, suit, socks and all, and under the thick comforter that Rush stopped abruptly. He had no idea when he had last taken the lead with someone else, when he had cared enough to do anything other than avoiding them. He shook his head violently, before he sat down on the hard plastic chair beside the bed.

If anything Agent French had gained a little more colour while she had sipped on the coffee he had fetched her from the machine in the hall. When she met his gaze she smiled a little abashedly. It was her who broke the silence and saved him from voicing the question that somehow always got stuck in his throat before he could manage to voice it. Concern had always sat uneasily with him and in this still half-formed situation, the dynamics between them still hanging in the open air, he had less of an idea than ever before.

"I'm sorry for being so stubborn before… You were right, I pushed myself too far, but I… I was never good at accepting help from others." She chewed her bottom lip between her teeth and breathed in shakenly. "Not a very good quality for someone in my field, I know." She smiled again, but her smile was a stretched thing on the edge of something else, and Rush finally found his voice again, grasping at the chance of turning the conversation around. He didn't think he could bear seeing her smile break, what was beneath.

"Why did you anyway?" Agent French looked at him startled, seemingly surprised out of her train of thoughts and he hurried to continue. "Earlier you said you wanted to be a librarian when you were a girl, so why this?"

She looked calm again, but her cheerful demeanour was set aside for the moment, as she met his gaze. He wasn't sure if this sad look was truly better than the half-broken smile.

"Well, ehm, when I was a teen my mother was the victim of a robbery. I was at school and my dad was working at our shop, but she wasn't feeling well, so she stayed home. She gave them all the valuables, but there was this book… She'd had it since she was a little girl and we always used to read it together and they probably wouldn't even have bothered with it, if it hadn't had this antique cover. All leather with a gold imprint – fake of course but they didn't know that and when she didn't want to give it away they just hit her so hard over the head that she broke down. A neighbour heard and called an ambulance, but there was massive bleeding in her brain and she died…" She breathed in deeply, before shrugging half-heartedly. "I just didn't understand how they could've done that over some old novelty book. I wanted to know how those people thought, so I became a profiler." She smiled a little and Rush felt as if he had just been hit in the stomach. Still somehow the silence between them was not as strained as before, when she had seemed to barely hold on to her composure over her suitability and maybe that was part of the point.

He surprised himself, when he suddenly found himself talking again. "My wife died too. Cancer last year." Rush shut his mouth instantly again. It didn't change the words hanging in the air between them and suddenly he didn't know anymore how he had found his answer fitting, when she touched his arm. Her small hand was still all too cold even through his sleeve.

"I know."

He opened his mouth to say something, before he simply nodded. Of course she knew. Jackson had to have given her his file. Or she could have simply googled him for all he knew. He looked from her little cold hand to her sad, but open face and she smiled at him. A tired, small thing, but an honest one this time and suddenly she looked so much more like herself again.

"I won't say it will get better", she finally said quietly. "Too many people told me everything would be well again after she died, even though I really didn't want to hear it back then. I didn't want to lose that last connection to her, I thought, well, if it didn't hurt anymore she'd finally be gone. And it truly won't to be honest. Get better I mean. It will always hurt to think of her, but with time there are other things, other people that will make you smile and it will at least be ok."

"I.." Rush didn't know what to say to that, he barely knew what to feel while his chest felt as if it was being crushed. Agent French only smiled wider, before she snuggled further under her covers.

"I think I will be okay now. The coffee really did me some good. If I warm up a little more, I will be alright for our trip back tomorrow. You can get a little bit of sleep of your own, I can only imagine that you need it, too, after a day like that."

He only nodded, thankful for the chance of a graceful escape while his head was whirling.

"Good night, Agent French." He had already stepped half through the door, when she answered him. "Good night, Dr. Rush, but for people who rescued my life it's Belle."

His knuckles turned white around the doorknob.

"Nick", he rasped, still facing the door, before he finally slipped out of the room.